Home
by takeyourside
Summary: A short Christmas oneshot (angst with a happy ending).


Home

The rain pelted against the floor-length windows, grey clouds dirtying the sky. The hammering against the glass resonated through the room, dimly lit and upsettingly bare. The photos that lined the wall no longer belonged, the gleeful grins and crinkled eyes contrasting the dark, lonely space.

She let her hand graze over the satin sheet, fingertips trailing slowly, sending shivers down her spine and expelling a breath similar to a silent sigh. She blinked slowly, her head weighing heavily against the pillow, watching the wet splattering against the glass.

She shifted her legs slightly, bare skin brushing against the bed, curling slightly more but only just. Engulfed by the comforter, a billowing cloud to hide her from the daunting day and keep her safe from the raging storm.

She could hear the patter of footsteps from the other side of the white door, the rest of the world so close and yet so distant she felt she wasn't really there at all. The smell of toast had wafted up from the kitchen downstairs, seeping through the crack beneath the door but feeling suffocating rather than appetising. It made her pull her duvet higher, the slight movement seeming too much for her exhausted self when her arm ached once again, falling down to the mattress.

When the door opened, she didn't turn. She wanted to, she wished she could, but the heaviness that pinned her down was too strong and the ache that inhabited her body was stretching from head to toe.

"Goodbye mom," came the voice, sweet and hopeful and light; a child's voice. She chewed on her lip at the lack of response, no words uttered and no part of her mother moving. "I love you," she said slightly quieter, slightly sadder, wishing for a kiss on the cheek and a hug goodbye and being made to promise to be good.

She thought her mom was back to giving hugs, that she didn't need to spend all day in bed anymore. She was hoping that maybe, just maybe, she'd go with them to the play centre. She missed her mom, just like she missed her dad, and she'd lost both even if one was still lying right in front of her.

"Come on Lil, let's go," Rachel muttered, finding the little girl in the doorway.

The sound of their voices only made the heaviness grow, clouding her mind and heart and confining her to the spot in which she lay even more. A niggling guilt, burrowing deeper with every moment of hopelessness and helplessness she was trapped in, a never-ending cycle that made it all the more difficult to stay afloat.

Especially because she thought she was starting to—stay afloat, that is. Things had been getting easier, days a little brighter, but it dwindled away and she wound up with only her emptiness and pain once again.

Twelve years she'd managed just fine, managed to cope without him by her side. Twelve Christmases alone. But the last seven he'd been by her side, planning out the festivities, grinning like the Cheshire Cat while they decorated their home and she sung along to carols.

How she missed that grin, that goddamn shit-eating grin.

And she missed him getting his hands on some mistletoe, hanging it between them at every chance he got, telling her that kissing her was his favourite pastime. She'd laugh it off, batting him away when it became relentless and they were supposedly busy.

But she'd give anything to let their lips linger once more for, in spite of her laughter and the rolling of her eyes, it was one of her favourite pastimes too.

It was supposed to be their eighth Christmas together, Lily's seventh. They were thinking about hosting it, having both sides of their family gather at theirs for the first time during the holiday season. It was his idea; he'd proposed it so excitedly and she'd reluctantly agreed.

Now, it was December 23rd and she couldn't bring herself to leave her bed, let alone host for everyone. Her mother was picking her and Lily up the next day, driving them to Connecticut for Christmas at hers with their shrinking family; the third holiday season without her father there.

That'd been hard, pushing through that first Christmas. Her sister had invited everybody around to her new husband's and her mother pushed a few things around her plate, mind plagued with memories of Christmas past. Donna wouldn't have been able to get through it without Harvey but now, now she was missing a part of herself, like something had been cut out of her and she'd never get that back.

Missing, they'd said.

A national tragedy, they'd said.

Except, it wasn't a tragedy for those who weren't involved. It wasn't a tragedy for those who had been found, reunited.

Missing hurt the most. At least if he'd been found, she'd be able to let go of that tiny part of her that was waiting for his key to click in the door and for his cologne to swamp her senses. Instead, she felt like she was falling down a bottomless hole, a limbo that got deeper and deeper with every passing day.

It had been almost a month: November 25th.

She'd tried to get on with it, to push through and pretend that everything was okay but it made her sobs grow more violent and the pain sear through her heart even more intensely.

Mike and Rachel were due in New York for Christmas and she was immensely grateful when they arrived slightly early, giving Clara Paulsen a break and looking out for Donna, helping to take care of Lily.

When Donna finally left her bed, the rain had subsided, sky slightly lighter. She daren't look at the time, didn't look at her phone—interest in engaging with the world depleted entirely—before dragging herself down the stairs. Her pounding head was begging for water and a painkiller, dehydrated and feeling all shrivelled up inside.

She moved slowly, each action stealing great handfuls of the energy she'd spent all morning building up. She knew she should eat but the nausea in the pit of her stomach made everything sound unappealing, leaving her staring blankly at the contents of the cupboard with no intention of grabbing anything.

The knock on the door startled her, her mind telling her she should probably answer but her body disobeying, not sure she could bring herself to see anybody. When the sound echoed through her home once more, she relented, traipsing through the tinsel-lined hallway—thanks to Lily and Clara—to the front door. With a deep breath, she clicked it open, pulling it towards her.

And she was certain her heart physically stopped at the sight before her, breathing ceasing for a moment before the sharpest inhale it was possible to muster. A disbelief overtaking her, eyes beginning to blur and sting from the pooling salt, her voice stuck underneath a tidal wave of astonishment and relief and fear and elation, a concoction of emotions that flooded every inch of her being.

"Hey," he muttered, chocolate eyes locking with hers and she wasn't sure how to stop the pent-up tears from spilling over the sides.

"Where have you been?" She squeezed out, voice cracking, allowing her broken self to fall apart at the seams at long last. "I thought I'd lost you," she managed to say through her constricted throat and dry mouth.

"I'm here now," he whispered and she thought her knees were going to give out right there, send her tumbling to the floor. So, when his hands found her shoulders and snaked around them, pulling her into him, it was the lifeline she'd been waiting a month for. The only way she'd be safe from falling over the cliff's edge.

Her sobs were loud and made her body convulse in his grip, clinging on tightly to his waist to steady herself.

"I missed you," he said quietly before kissing the top of her head, lips drenched in the taste of his silent tears.

When Lily returned with Rachel later that day, he'd opened the door before they could even get out of the car and he was met by an excitable squeal and the tightest of hugs, little arms wrapped around his neck and never wanting to let go.

And he carried her inside, Donna downstairs, sitting in the living room, looking less pale and life having returned to her eyes. Lily had missed seeing her smile, seeing her look like her mom again, and she was almost as excited as she was to see her dad, running over and snuggling against her, grateful just to finally have her parents back in time for Christmas.


End file.
